


love in withdrawal was the weeping of me

by insertcleveracejoke



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, Honestly theyre mostly background, M/M, Original Character(s), Other, Prayer, Temporary Character Death, one (01) thought of self-harm that is not followed through
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28624074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insertcleveracejoke/pseuds/insertcleveracejoke
Summary: "Don't come, and don't answer, but-"He didn't talk about anything important. Just the little things- ("did you know that the harshest the winter, the sweeter the carrot? It's almost like they're trying to tell you something"). Just about the way the floorboard directly in front of the door always creaked when someone stepped on it, and not anything about how it made Adam feel safer.
Relationships: Adam Milligan & Original Character(s), Michael/Adam Milligan
Comments: 12
Kudos: 43





	1. i loved, and i loved, and i lost you

_If you call me, I will be there._

It had been two thousand, five hundred, and sixty-seven days since Adam had woken up on his own.

It had taken him four hours and forty-seven minutes to get up from the wet pavement. Adam knew, because in the agony of having only a minuscule fragment of his soul, counting had been the only thing able to ground him enough to keep him from passing out. Count, and breathe, and _keep going._

Here's a secret: when you spend a thousand years as an archangel's vessel, and you love them, you love them, you love them-

-and, unimaginably, _he loves you too_ , loves you so much that you can feel his grace curling around your shoulders like a mantle, its wisps around your temples like a crown-

-things can start to get messy. 

Michael had kept Adam in the safest place possible, at the center of his being, swaddled in layers and layers of grace that were armor and nest at the same time. Adam hadn't even been able to see Lucifer for as long as he hadn't wanted to. Soul and grace hadn't fused, not really, but they had- connected.

To wake up without that was excruciating. Better to lose all your limbs. Better to wake up blind and deaf and mute, all in a day, perhaps even better to lose your soul. Adam had once been part of a being that was measured in light-years. What was a soul next to that?

He got up. Eventually. He needed to. Even as his brain kept asking him _why,_ Adam got up. Unsteady step after unsteady step (in the rain, because _of course_ it was raining, _of course_ he couldn't catch a break once in his fucking life), he walked a block. Two. His legs had almost given up on him then, and he had to lean on the wall of a building, but he made it to a phone booth.

Adam called Sam.

He didn't want to. He _especially_ didn't want to when he could hear Castiel and Dean in the background, discussing something or other about their kid, not when Michael wasn't there to roll his eyes at their bullshit with him. But that was the whole point of this call. 

Michael wasn't answering, so- there _must_ have been a reason. Michael wouldn't just leave him behind like that. It was supposed to be the two of them together. Even if he left, he- he must have-

 _What happened?_ Adam had asked, hating the way his voice broke, the way it sounded like begging. Sam hesitated. 

_Adam? Is that you?_

_What_ **_happened?_ **

Sam cleared his throat. _Um, Chuck vanished everyone_ -

Bull _shit_. Adam could see people now, walking in the streets, side eyeing him. He couldn't give less of a shit about what Chuck had done when it had so obviously been fixed.

 _I don't mean that_ , Adam snapped. _Where is Michael?_

* * *

No. No. 

* * *

  
  


_Fuck you. You're lying. He would never-_

_I'm sorry, Adam._

_Fuck you-_

  
  


* * *

  
  


_Why? Why would he-_

_I guess he was-_

_No. No, shut up, fuck you._ **_You_ ** _did this._ **_You_ ** _baited him-_

_He made his own choices-_

**_Fuck_ ** _you. Don't ever contact me again._

Adam hung up. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Someone took him in.

A nice old lady. An ex hunter. _You have a bit of that look about you_ , Beth had said, after he had taken a bath, changed his old clothes (Michael's, that jacket had been-) for those of her dead son. _Something happened to you, didn't it?_

He had smiled, then, awkward and humorless, but polite. _Something happened to the entire world, ma'am._

Beth let him stay for two weeks. Adam thought she might have let him stay forever, without even asking, but something nibbled at his heels and told him to keep going. 

He took the clothes. That gives off the wrong impression- the old hunter pressed a backpack into his hands. The clothes were there ( _not like my George can make much use of them anymore,_ she had huffed), and so were a sharp knife, notepad, a burner phone, money- in cash- and, stuffed in a side pocket as if an afterthought, toiletries. 

Beth had waved away his thanks, but her number was the first he kept. Not only on the phone, but also scribbled on the notepad, in a page he kept carefully folded in the inner pocket of his jacket.

That was not the last ex hunter who took him for a few days he stole from the world and from himself. They seemed to be everywhere, from one side of the country to the other, and most of them seemed to find something of themselves in his expression. Adam never gave them his surname. That had never seemed to surprise them.

 _What are you looking for, son?_ Some of them had asked- at the stove, over tea or beer or whiskey, sitting on an old couch, or leaning on a wooden chair they had made with their own hands. Their voices all sounded the same.

 _I don't know_ , he had said, frankly, truly. _I don't know._

Adam kept walking. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Eventually, a home found him.

Adam had never been good at building things. He was average at cooking, cleaning, the daily chores you have to do to keep a house clean and functional. The steps you have to take to _build_ a house- well, that had never been taught to him. Even if it had, he might not have known how to care.

The hunter he was bunking with this time was called Henry, and had also cheerfully avoided telling Adam his surname. That most certainly meant Adam could have seen him on the news at some point, but everything considered, those tended to be the best hunters to live with for a short while. They answered no questions, but asked none as well. 

Henry was big and burly, built like a wardrobe, including the mirrors- he _really_ liked reflective sunglasses. His house, he said, had been about falling apart five years ago. Adam wasn't even sure if it had been bought or just- taken over. But he could see it, just a little bit: when he squinted, he could about manage a glance at the echoes of a ruin behind the mostly well maintained household it was now. 

It had basically been rebuilt from the ground up, Henry had explained with a proud look. Knocking on the sturdy wall, he had said _as was I_ with the kind of expression that, in non-hunters, usually meant the start of an attempt of a heart to heart about what had happened to Adam.

With Henry, it just meant that was a whiskey night. 

Adam had liked the first old hunter better (he called her religiously, every Sunday. Church wasn't an issue. Neither of them attended mass anymore). Even so, he stayed at Henry's for longer. Perhaps it was because Beth had too knowing a look on her face when she smiled at him. Perhaps he just liked the smaller kitchen better.

He kept going away and coming back, gravitating around Henry's house in a circle that got smaller every time Adam tried to leave. It wasn't his to keep. But Henry seemed to like his company, the living body to talk at and the ears that didn't seem to mind the constant influx of information about whatever hunt he had been thinking of that day, and so Adam didn't try too hard.

Even so, it had only been two years since they met when Henry said, out of the blue, that he was moving out.

 _Oh,_ Adam had said. He was already calculating how quickly he could walk out of the door- very, very quick. Adam had stopped unpacking his things a long time ago. _But what about the house?_

Henry had smiled, then. _It stays with you._

* * *

Turned out, Henry had a granddaughter.

 _My son can't take care of her on his own, not with his new job,_ Henry explained later. _Someone needs to take care of her. And I don't have a fancy job I could lose by moving, so it's up to me. It'll be nice to see her more often._

_Why give the house to me, though?_

_Son, I'm seventy-five years old. When I go, I'm not coming back. Better to have someone keeping the fire lit, eh?_ And then, a more serious expression: _I dedicated years to rebuilding this house. Someone has to take care of it. And you do care, don't you?_

Yes. Yes, Adam did. 

He hadn't meant to, but he _liked_ the smallish shack, the wooden everything, the old, brown couch that looked like something had bled on it. It was a home in a way a lot of ex hunters' houses weren't. It was home for _him_ , specifically. Adam had calluses he had built by chopping wood for that fireplace. He had a scar from bumping his hip too hard on the counter. 

_Son, you can stay. Just make sure to call and tell me the roof didn't come down every once in a while, eh?_

There was nothing Adam could say except _yeah, of course._

* * *

  
  


He made himself at home.

Even unpacked. Not fully, of course- his trusted backpack, the one Beth had given him, still had his essentials ready to be swung up on a shoulder and walked out the moment Adam felt there was a need to. But mostly. His jacket on the rack, his slippers next to the bed. He even got himself a mug.

It said _World's Okayest_ , and just those words. A fabrication error. It had made him smile, so he had bought it. It was the perfect size for his coffee intake. (Huge.)

Things weren't _amazing._ Adam still couldn't fall asleep without checking that the door and the windows were locked, devil's traps still under the welcome mat and on the ceilings. He didn't have a gun- had been offered one, at times, but he had meant to be a _doctor-_ but his knife was never too far away. If nothing else, it was good for chopping vegetables with.

Still, now, he woke up screaming at least once a month. The ghouls, the cage; both featured heavily in his nightmares. There were things he could do about both of those. Check the windows, or check himself. _See? You're fine._

The worst ones, though, he could do nothing about. The ones where he woke up alone. After all, that was still what happened every single morning.

Even with all that, Adam had truly come to like his life. 

He had a house, one he was really fond of. He had _friends_ , even if those were ex hunters, most older than his body- if not his mind- by a quarter of a century at least. Beth still talked to him every Sunday. Henry had claimed his Tuesdays. Adam didn't really work, not officially, but he got by. 

Sure, he rarely left the house, but he thought he was entitled after seven years of being homeless. Maybe Adam could have gone back to college, or tried to get a job, but- 

-It didn't feel right, not yet. 

Still. Adam had settled. At the very least, he was comfortable with the life he had, which was more than he thought he would be able to say. He was fine.

So, of course, that's when it happened.

  
  


* * *

  
  


It had been certainty down to the marrow of his bones where before there was none. It was unsteady ground where he had been stumbling, and it came out of nowhere.

Adam dropped his mug.

He wasn't sure how, exactly, or where the knowledge came from, but he _knew_ \- somewhere, somehow, Michael was alive again. 

It meant nothing. It had nothing to do with him. Only that his soul longed, and stretched itself out, trying to reach the unreachable-

Adam stopped, and breathed. With trembling hands, he picked out the biggest shards of his favorite mug. 

The word _Okayest_ was not even recognizable anymore. Some part of him wanted to close his fist around the shards of ceramic so that they would bite into his flesh. If he watched the blood trickle down, perhaps the pain would make it easier to breathe. No. Adam dumped the shards in the trash can.

He didn't even have enough time to go get the broom. Mere seconds after he had been brought back from the dead, the archangel Michael descended from the ceiling in a scene that should not feel as familiar as it did. 

Adam's soul thrashed inside his chest as soon as the light started shining down. Like a wounded animal, like a lover reaching out to a beloved they hadn't seen in decades, it fought against every drop of his will. If it had a voice, it would be begging. If it had a voice, it would be screaming.

Adam gripped the counter with hands that had not yet stopped trembling. He did not look up.

_Adam?_

It was not the cold, demanding voice of the archangel he had met so, so many years ago. It was almost… shy. Uncertain. Even _soft,_ if he dared to call it that. 

Adam did not look. He could not. 

"Hey", he said. 

_Adam_ , once again, relieved, tasting the sound of his name on something that was not quite a tongue. _You're alive._

"Yep. Surprise."

Michael paused. Even without looking, Adam could _feel_ his grace curling, the uncertainty on the way the light bended.

_Adam. How long has it been?_

"Two thousand, five hundred, and sixty-seven days."

Michael silenced. He was upset; his grace thrashed, a little, and Adam's soul thumped against his ribcage like a prisoner rattling the bars of their cell.

 _It's a long time for a human,_ he said carefully, oh so carefully, and Adam hated him for it.

Suddenly, fiercely, the way he had not allowed himself to while Michael was dead: he _hated_ him. His knuckles, still gripping the counter, turned white.

"What does it matter?"

_What?_

"What does it matter if it's a long time for a human? We both know that's a blink for you."

_But it is not, for you._

"Time is weird." Adam said. Breathing in, breathing out- "what are you doing here, Michael?"

A pause. Adam almost felt bad, almost, when the window started rattling in a visible sign of Michael's discomfort. It stopped as soon as it started, as if Michael had startled himself with his own reaction.

_You're here._

"Brilliant observation. And?"

More silence, this time filled with hurt. He gripped the counter tighter. 

"Go away, Michael. There is nothing for you here."

_There is you._

Adam laughed, humorless. "Yeah. Exactly."

* * *

  
  
_If you call me,_ Michael had had the _audacity_ to say, _I will be there._

Not _if you pray to me._ Adam _hated_ him. He hated the parts of himself that longed to be once again nestled inside his grace, and even more, the parts of him that simply yearned to see Michael again. 

Adam didn't call. He picked up the broom and swept the smaller shards of porcelain into the trash, and then he went on to make himself dinner. 

It tasted like cardboard in his mouth. He ignored it. Bite by bite, he got himself to eat all that was on his plate. Then he washed the dishes.

Afterwards, Adam stood in his kitchen and realized his life felt empty.

He read, sometimes. Not often enough. Gardened, yes, but that didn't take up nearly enough of his time. Adam hadn't even touched a medicine textbook or magazine since before the cage. Now that he thought about it, what did he even do with his days?... How had he not gone crazy yet? 

That line of thought was uncomfortable, so he checked if the door and windows were locked (they were), changed into his pajamas, and went to bed.

It was only 8 PM. But Adam had meant it when he said time was strange.

* * *

When Michael had been dead, Adam had not tried to talk to him.

He'd start to make mental comments and then realized there was no one inside his head to hear them, but that was all. Once he realized there was no one there (and oh, how that _hurt,_ like a phantom limb, like a phantom soul), Adam always stopped. No sense in trying to talk to someone who couldn't hear him.

Even then, the little comments had eventually phased out. Sometimes he still caught himself reaching out to grace that simply wasn't there, but the _talking_ \- that had slowly faded away over the first two, three years.

Adam realized, with a resigned, tired sort of horror, that they were coming back.

 _Michael,_ he thought with dirt under his fingernails, _the carrots are ripe. Did you know-_

Adam stopped. Breathed. Michael hadn't come- either he had lied, or hadn't considered that a _call._ Maybe it hadn't reached him. Still shook, Adam went inside to wash his hands. It was an isolated incident. It didn't mean anything.

Except.

Over the stove, while cooking- _today's soup. Gonna have carrots in it, of course. Might as well-_

It was lucky he hadn't burned himself when he realized. Lucky Michael still didn't come. Adam relaxed slowly. _Okay. Okay._ The soup was boiling, so he turned the stove off and had dinner.

Still. It kept sneaking up on him. When he was getting ready to sleep ( _it's only 6 AM, but really, who cares),_ or reading the medicine magazine he had picked up ( _I bet you know all of this already),_ doing laundry ( _well, yeah, not all of us got archangel powers. I mean,_ I _kinda do, but-)-_

Eventually, Adam just kind of gave up on keeping it down. Michael wasn't taking over his body due to some unilateral commentary on his part. He wasn't even showing up. Most likely, Michael considered this whole thing to be too unimportant to listen to.

So… Adam let himself talk.

 _Don't come,_ he always started, just in case, _and don't answer, but-_

  
  


* * *

  
  
Beth, somehow, knew. 

"Well, kid? What happened?", her voice croaked over the phone.

Adam, in the process of folding a shirt, suddenly felt very glad she couldn't currently stare at him with those all-knowing eyes of hers. 

"I literally only said hello," he tried.

"Don't try that on me, boy. I'm older than your grandma. Just spit it out."

She wasn't wrong, even if the concept of _age_ was very, very complicated to someone like Adam. It paid not to think about it.

"It's nothing."

"Bull _shit_ it isn't. Did an ex stumble on you?" Adam choked, but Beth kept going, unphased- "I don't know how, what with you being in the middle of nowhere, and all that. What was she, a squirrel?"

"He's not my _ex_."

To her credit, Beth carried on with barely any hesitation:

"Almost ex, then."

"Nice talk", Adam informed her. He hung up to the sound of her _don't you dare-_

  
  


* * *

_Don't come, and don't answer, but you won't believe this-_ _Beth thinks you're my ex. Did I tell you about Beth? It doesn't matter, anyway. She's probably gonna kill me for hanging up on her._

_Not literally. I don't think._

_She's an ex hunter, you know. They seem to like me for some reason._

_I bet you would know why._

* * *

  
  
He didn't talk about anything important. Just the little things- _did you know that the harshest the winter, the sweeter the carrot? It's almost like they're trying to tell you something._ Just about the way the floorboard directly in front of the door always creaked when someone stepped on it, and not anything about how it made Adam feel safer. 

Michael probably knew, anyway. _If_ he was listening. 

Adam's hands had changed much in seven years. They were now covered in calluses, from gardening and fixing things up in the house, and much drier than they used to be. 

So had his body changed when he wasn't immutable as an archangel's vessel. Adam had gained a bit of weight around his hips, and his shoulders had broadened, just a little. He was never going to be a big man, but he looked less like a terrified teenager now that he- well, wasn't physically one anymore. Adam was a grown man now.

It still seemed unfair that, of all things, it was the _pimples_ that came back from the grave of his long dead puberty. Less than they used to be, sprinkled across his face and on his shoulders, but still. He was supposed to be over that kind of thing. 

Adam looked at himself in the mirror, and no longer saw Michael's face staring at him.

He wondered- if Michael had taken a good look at him when he had appeared. Did he still think he would be a good vessel? Now that Adam was older, and less malleable? 

It didn't matter anyway. It wasn't like Adam was going to invite him in.

He _wanted_ to, was the thing.

It wasn't about his soul, although yes, it _did_ keep reaching out, and _yes,_ it did get annoying at times. It wasn't about archangel powers, or the way they had made him feel safe even in the depths of hell, in a way he hadn't been able to emulate ever since he woke up on that patch of wet pavement. It wasn't even about the immortality. Adam had lived over a thousand years- he wasn't interested in living a thousand more for the sake of it.

If it were, it would have been easier.

  
  


* * *

  
  


_Don't come,_ the tired words, _and don't answer. I am mad at you._

 _I've_ been _mad at you. It's weird. I don't- how long has it been since our arrangement? Over seven hundred years? I don't know how to be angry anymore. You took that from me._

_You took so much from me, Michael. Above all, yourself. How can I forgive you for that? You loved me- what right did you have to leave me?_

_I know I left first. I know, but I am just human, and you- you were never meant to die first, Michael. I was never supposed to outlive you._

_You should have survived. You should have stayed. It isn't your fault that your asshole dad killed you, but-_

_But I woke up alone. I still do._   
  


_I still do._

* * *

  
  


_I don't think I want to. Keep waking up on my own, I mean._

_But I don't know how to forgive you._

_I don't even know how to start._

* * *

_… Maybe it starts like this._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for Adam accidentally cutting himself with a knife; to skip it, jump from "Startled, Adam barely noticed" to "Adam? Are you still there?"

It started with the mug.

Adam wasn't in the habit of complaining to Michael in his irregular, one-sided commentary, but every once in a while, something  _ had  _ to slip out. He was only mostly human, after all.

_ It's kind of your fault that I dropped it anyway,  _ Adam huffed, having calmed down just enough that it came out slightly exasperated instead of accusing.  _ Do you know how impossible it is to find a huge World's Okayest mug? There's not even one online. I  _ guess _ I could just get a regular one and slap some tape over the last world, but it's not the same. _

There was very little actual anger in that. Some frustration, sure, because Adam had  _ genuinely  _ liked that mug, but- well, it wasn't like Michael had  _ meant  _ for him to accidentally shatter it. It was just a mug. Maybe it couldn't be really replaced, but it was just a small thing that made him smile. There would be other ones.

And then, the next time he was out shopping, he found one. 

It wasn't a  _ true _ copy. Adam wasn't sure if he even would have wanted one, since complete replacements tended to creep him. Instead of  _ Okayest,  _ it said  _ World's Best _ , and was about as big as his old one. Adam bought it. Of course he did.

He tried to convince himself it couldn't be related to his comment. No  _ way  _ did his complaining to Michael lead to there suddenly being a cool new mug on sale at his favorite grocery store. It was probably just a coincidence.

Yeah, alright. There weren't many of those in his life nowadays.

Even if it weren't, what was he supposed to do about it? Adam shrugged, poured coffee in his new mug, and moved on. No point dwelling on something he couldn't do anything about. 

Except that other small things started happening. His small garden had always been well cared for, but now his plants were flourishing almost aggressively, leaves shooting towards the sky as if hoping to one day grab the sun. Even after he plucked the tomatoes from the plant and the potatoes from the ground, they stayed fresh for longer than they should.

The shirts he sometimes threw over his shoulder when the temperature rose never wrinkled anymore. His food never burned. When Adam dragged himself to the city, Henry's  _ now don't you go isolating yourself, boy, you're far too smart for that  _ ringing in his ears, the store was never out of his favorite snacks.

Michael's leftover grace had made him just a little different from the moment Adam had woken up on his own. He needed less food and rest than most humans, and lesser monsters and demons tended to avoid him, intuiting that there was still something holy living inside of his ribcage. Many ex hunters had joked that Adam's presence was better than iron to shoo away a ghost.

So there was a small, though not negligible, possibility this was just his share of Michael's grace extending its influence beyond what it used to do. Adam didn't truly believe in it for a second.

It seemed obvious, then, that the only way to know for  _ sure  _ was… well, testing it. Complaining about something that wasn't an actual issue and then seeing what happened. If the result was nothing, well, then it  _ had  _ probably been his leftover grace. And if something happened… then Michael was not only listening, but trying to- what? Make up for what happened? 

Adam wasn't sure how he felt about either alternative. (His soul  _ fought  _ inside of him, reaching out to someone who Adam now thought might be reaching back. He breathed in, breathed out, and set out to test his hypothesis.)

_ Don't come,  _ he said, on habit, while washing the dishes,  _ and don't answer, but I found a new mug. It's honestly kind of cool. I'd missed having a favorite one.  _

_ I can't seem to find my old jacket, though.  _ Lie. Adam knew exactly in which sealed box it was.  _ You know? The one we wore to hell? It's kinda silly, I guess, since I've outgrown it, but I like to keep it around. I guess that's just how it goes.  _

Adam paused, his hands covered in water and soap. He thought about his new mug, about the small, gentle miracles happening around him, about the years they had spent together.  _ I… hope you're doing well, wherever you are.  _

When he turned around, drying his hands with a washcloth, his old green jacket was draped over the back of his couch. 

Well. Hypothesis proved. What to do now?

The part of him that had been interested in science, that still was, wanted to keep running experiments. Would Michael take care of his chores for him if he asked? Would he get rid of that one squirrel that kept eating his bird seed? Would he change the weather, if Adam complained it was too hot or too cold? Curiosity ran through him like the blood in his veins.

And… to his shame, not only curiosity. Being loved by an archangel was a power rush. Adam had never really had time to think about it once they got out of the cage, but there was very little Michael wasn't able to do out there, as some voice at the back of his mind told him, demanding,  _ why not make use of it? Aren't you owed something? Aren't you owed everything? _

But deeper, inside his bones, Adam  _ didn't  _ want to ask anything more than what he had been given. Not from Michael. God had used him for eons, as a tool, as a sword, and Adam had promised himself  _ centuries  _ ago that he would never do the same. Michael was worth more than what he could do.

There was nothing Adam needed more than to be good to someone who had once been good to him.

So instead of another request, Adam said only  _ thank you,  _ and nothing more. 

* * *

  
  


"Okay, so maybe he  _ is  _ kind of my almost ex", Adam blurted out as soon as Beth picked up the phone.

She, bless her, didn't even hesitate.

"Told you. Are you gonna hang up on me again if I say something you don't like?"

He grimaced, phone held between his ear and his shoulder as he chopped the last of his carrots. It felt weird to still have those.

"... No. Sorry."

"Good. Maybe one day you'll realize I'm never wrong."

Adam snorted and laid the knife down, adjusting the position of his phone. "Maybe."

"Don't laugh, boy. So? What's with your man?"

"He's not  _ my  _ man." Michael wasn't even technically a man at all. "Nothing new, I just- I think he's being nice to me."

"Mm. And what's the problem with that?"

"He's not supposed to be  _ nice." _

Beth sighed. "Why not?"

"Because-"

Because Adam hadn't truly forgiven him yet, and there was no _reason_ for Michael to be nice to him. They once _had_ been something that lived beyond words. They had been everything each other had. But it had been years ago, and they had died and lived since then. 

"You're allowed to be angry at him even if he's nice, you know?"

Adam hadn't. He breathed and grabbed the knife again. "He didn't mean to hurt me."

"Maybe not, but he did. It's alright if you are angry about it. You grieved him, didn't you?"

Startled, Adam barely noticed when the blade accidentally cut into his index. He moved it quick enough that the blood didn't contaminate the rest of the carrot and held the phone with his intact hand:

"How did you know?"

"Son, do you think you're even close to being the first widower I met?"

"We weren't married," Adam automatically said. Beth snorted derisively.

"Sure you weren't. I know grief when I see it. You thought he was dead, didn't you?"

His mind flinched away from the memory. 

That was when the small cut closed on its own, the faintest blue glow around its corners as Adam absentmindedly watched, desperate for a distraction. Mm. Now  _ that  _ was new. His wounds healed fast, faster than any regular human's, but not  _ this  _ much.

"Adam? You still there?"

"Yeah." He breathed in, breathed out, curling his hand in a fist. "Yeah, I thought-"

"Then it's completely normal that you wouldn't let yourself be angry until you knew he was alive and safe again. There wasn't space for it yet. I can't tell if you  _ should  _ talk to him and try again after that. I don't know your man, I don't know if he's worth it, but you're smart. I'd say  _ you  _ know. Don't you?"

The green jacket, still draped over the back of his couch, was a lighthouse in the dark. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

"Well, then, there you go." 

"Thanks, Beth."

"You're welcome, son," she said, warmth in her croaky voice. Then she hung up on  _ him. _

Which, you know, was fair. 

* * *

Adam didn't pray to him immediately.

He took a few moments. Folded the green jacket, putting it back in its old place, and tried not to bury his face in it looking for a scent that simply wouldn't be there anymore. Then, Adam washed the place the cut had been. Michael had healed him, but either it hadn't occurred to him to clean up the blood, or he had known that was something Adam liked to do by himself.

It took him the time needed to make himself a sandwich, eat it, and wash the dishes to realize that he was procrastinating. 

Taking a deep breath, Adam sat down on the edge of his couch and thought  _ Michael, if you could come- _

The sound of wings and the desperate beating of his own soul interrupted him.

"Who the  _ fuck  _ are you wearing," Adam blurted out.

Michael- because it  _ was  _ Michael, there was no doubt about it- seemed surprised by the question. He looked down at his vessel.

"Um. No one, actually," Michael said. Adam almost sagged in relief before getting himself back under control. "Things are- a little different, now."

"I… see."

And he did. It was startling to realize that this was the first time Adam had actually seen Michael in a body they weren't sharing. His heart was heavy inside his chest, even as his soul kept thrashing almost painfully, reaching for the grace that was now so close. Adam patted the couch:

"Well, sit down then."

Michael looked up quickly, as if he hadn't expected that, but he also obeyed with very little hesitation. It was something he was good at. His long sleeved shirt was soft under Adam's hand as he lightly tugged on Michael's arm the way someone might tug at their friend's brand new sweater. 

"Guess you don't need a vessel anymore, huh."

"Not- a human one, no." Michael stared down at where Adam had touched, wistful for a moment, before looking up with a crooked, nervous smile. "It isn't quite the same, though."

"Kinda like vegetarian burgers?"

Michael laughed softly, and Adam couldn't help but smile. "Not exactly. I guess I just- miss you."

And that- for some reason, that took Adam by surprise. 

"You do?"

"Of course," he said, almost painfully earnest. Then, he hesitated; "do you-"

"Of course I do."

Michael peered at him, hopeful. "I know you kept talking to me, but I wasn't sure if it was just- a placeholder."

The lack of certainty in Michael's voice broke his heart, and so Adam took his hand, on an impulse. His skin felt soft, which was just- wrong, now that Adam had calluses, but it was Michael's, and so he didn't mind as much as he thought. Their graces intermingled just enough that his soul finally quieted down a little.

It felt like coming home.

"You're not, Michael. It's- you  _ must  _ know that you're important to me."

Michael smiled, sadly:

"I know I was, but it's been seven years."

"And how long were we together?" Adam said softly. He refused to think about how their doubts were as similar as their appearances used to be. "I'm- I was angry, sure. Still am a bit. I thought you were  _ dead,  _ Michael. I had to rebuild my life around the hole you left, and I didn't- I don't-"

Michael squeezed his hand, a silent  _ take your time.  _ Breathing in, breathing out, Adam started playing with Michael's fingers to avoid looking at his expression.

"I'm just glad you're alive again."

"So am I. I'm sorry, Adam. I never meant to- I never meant for things to happen like that."

"Most of it wasn't your fault."

"Sure," Michael said in a tone that implied the opposite, "but still. If it had been up to me- Adam, you must know I would never choose to leave you."

"I… I knew it, I just-..."

"Couldn't believe it, after everything?"

Adam shrugged, avoiding eye contact. "Yeah."

"I don't blame you for it. If you'd let me, though- could I prove it to you again? I understand if this conversation is just you seeking closure, but…"

"No. No, it's not that. Not  _ just  _ that, at least."

Michael let out a relieved sigh. 

"I'm glad."

"And you- you're not the only one who needs to prove that they won't leave again. I left, too. I didn't  _ mean  _ to, but neither did you. So- maybe we can work on it. Together, I mean."

The smile blooming on Michael's face was more beautiful than anything Adam had ever seen in his long, long life. Not because of the face he was wearing, but because of the way his grace rippled with joy, wings fluttering in a plane most people wouldn't have known how to see.

"I'd like that very much."

""Old man," Adam smiled, bumping his shoulder against Michael's. "... Were you really listening, every time?"

"Of course I was. Why wouldn't I? It was you. Even if it was just a small part of you that wanted to talk to me, I couldn't turn away from that."

"... It wasn't small. Not even a little."

"Yeah?"

Adam smiled at him. "Yeah."

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might or might not add a chapter or a sequel later on about how they end up sharing a body again, but for now, this is the end, folks. Hope you enjoyed!


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